


Fuhren

by NurglingCoofer



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fantasy, Magic, OC, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:54:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29609028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurglingCoofer/pseuds/NurglingCoofer
Summary: Fuhren is an able-bodied warrior born of the Reisenadler tribe. Greenskins, monstrous mutants, and their own kind threaten humanity's survival.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The temperate forest trees and bushes glowed a vibrant rippling orange on the borders of the clearing. Large cracks and pops of a funeral pyre echoed over the crowd as the men and women paid homage to the deceased. Their faces silent and still, glowing with the reflected orange of the flame. Near the front of the crowd, a tall young man bowed his head giving a prayer to the God of Man, Aquilias, to guide Tierfrund’s soul to the paradise lands of Gottera. Where he may find everlasting peace and joy. As the pyre began to wane in intensity the crowd soon dispersed. A solemn night, but nothing unexpected. Tierfrund had led a long and productive life. He had served the tribe well in his time handling the mysterious and shadowy duties of the seer. Now his son and mentor Adlesprech took his place.

Adlesprech said his farewells to a small group in hushed tones as they were about to leave, then made his way towards the tall man with long blond hair whose head was still bowed. “Do not worry Fuhren.” Spoke Adlesprech to the young man. “I assure you, my father now watches over us in the land of Gottera with a smile on his face. I saw it myself the other night when he passed.” Adlesprech then placed a hand reassuringly on Fuhren’s right shoulder. “Then I pray that he watches over and guides us.” Spoke Fuhren in a youthful yet deep voice. “May he lend you sight so that we will triumph over these hard times.” Adlesprech then bowed and repeated the prayer of his friend. The two young men then turned and departed, allowing the material remains of their kinsman to turn to ash in peace.

As the two journeyed back to their homes the old friends looked back on the times they had known Adlesprech’s father, Tierfrund. The two had grown up together in the tribe, and Tierfrund served as a sort of secondary guardian to Fuhren. Born to a farming family a few miles down the Smarag river, Fuhren was orphaned when a monster from the mountains descended upon the farm. He had watched on in horror as the beast eviscerated his sister and mother in only seconds. It was by luck and fate that King Regem Ustus’ hunting party was nearby. They dispatched the monster and took in Fuhren. He was only seven summers of age. Fuhren grew up in the King’s court taking lessons from the Champion at Arms, Jorgen, and aiding in smaller matters of maintaining the armory. The shaman and his son often made visits to the King’s longhouse in the middle of Reisenadler to advise the council. It was there the two children met and became friends. The two boys were often shooed off to play together outside while the menfolk talked of adult dealings in the longhouse. Later in life Fuhren often ran down to the Shaman’s hut outside the palisade walls of Reisenadler to listen to the tales, legends, and visions of the seer. Fuhren especially enjoyed the tales of long-dead heroes vanquishing the foes of Man and traveling far off lands. It was these tales that gave Fuhren the extra morale and determination needed to completely devote himself to the training of the King’s champion at arms. Even when his muscles ached and his mind became hazy with weariness.

The two came to a crossroads where they parted ways for the night. Adlesprech headed north of the palisade wall that surrounded Reisenadler towards his hut on the border of the forest. Fuhren walked into the gates and through Reisenadler. The town was silent and calm. Pleasant cool air flowed through the streets and pathways and between the huts and mud-brick homes of the common folk of Reisenadler. Some of the shutters let a faint glow spill from their edges while others were pitch black, their denizens in a restful slumber. As Fuhren made his way up the hill which the King’s longhouse sat atop of, he glanced at the stars. They were as brilliant as ever, their silver sheen lighting up the night sky. Fuhren searched for Vir one of the main constellations of his people. He found it quickly since he was taught well the night sky and how to navigate by the stars, another of Tierfrund’s many lessons. Fuhren noticed a blinking light emanating near the middle of the constellation, Oscill the blinking star. It had to be an omen. Of what, he was not sure. Fuhren decided he would discuss it with Adlesprech the next day.

The King’s longhouse lay within the middle of a separate compound surrounded by a short palisade wall. The guards at the gate recognized Fuhren with a familiar nod and let him pass. Fuhren turned left along a path leading around the side of the King’s abode to the rear of it. There, against the palisades at the rear of the compound were a series of sheds and shacks, where the King’s hired guards and champion lived. Fuhren made his way towards a narrow door next to the shed designated as the armory. Here was his home where Fuhren had lived for the last eighteen summers. It was only about 8 feet wide and twelve feet long. It featured a bed and a tiny stone fire pit that he used for warmth or heating small portions of food. At the foot of the bed lay Fuhren’s battle gear: a six-foot spear (a weapon every male of thirteen years of age received and maintained), a hatchet for warfare and forestry, a round wooden shield painted green with the insignia of a white eagle flexing its wings, thick leather helmet, and a hunting knife. Fuhren also possessed a hunting bow which he was proficient with yet it was unsuitable for battle. Fuhren undressed into only his trousers and laid down on the bed. His eyes had heavy, and his mind calmed since the walk home. He found that sleep came quickly and easily on this calm cool night.

Tiny rays of sunlight worked their way through small slits in the plank shed that was Fuhren’s home. Dust and fine dirt floated through the slits of light dancing all around the slumbering Fuhren. Suddenly he was pulled from his sleep by a hard knock coming from his door. Fuhren’s startled state did not last even a second for as soon as he woke he instantly recognized it as the wake-up call from Jorgen the King’s champion at arms. “Going to have to start pulling night watches on the wall if you’re going to sleep the day away.” Jorgen bellowed jokingly yet with a serious tone. Fuhren answered by getting out of bed and opening the door for more light. He winced as the sunlight burned a white film over his vision. “So eager to receive your second whooping at practice Jorgen?” Said Fuhren with a satisfying smirk. It was just days ago that Fuhren had finally beaten Jorgen at a sparring match with sword and shield. Although the young man did not possess a sword himself as they were out of his financial grasp, he had become very proficient in their use and had earned the right to be equipped with one of the King’s arming swords in the armory if the need arrived. “Yeah. Well, you have to actually arrive at the battle to beat anything in the first place Fuhren. Now get out there. The King wishes to partake in this morning’s training.” At the news of the King’s attendance Fuhren rushed to dress. The King was a formidable fighter, and Fuhren wished to show off his capabilities.

The training area was a simple affair. A few hay targets for bows, and some dummies attached to polls in the ground for striking. Wooden swords, shields, tip-less spear shafts, and wood axes were brought out from the armory every morning. The male townsfolk of Reisenadler were expected to attend at least once a week. However, the King’s guard and hired men were there almost every morning to attend and hone their skills. Fuhren was one who attended every day, spare the few where he had gone a little too hard in the local tavern or found himself in the clutches of a farmer’s daughter. Usually, these infractions were met with some sort of duty which entailed cleaning the armory or sharpening blades.

Fuhren dressed quickly and stepped out to the training yard at the back of the King’s compound. There were seven regular peasants and farmers there for their weekly training. The day watch sergeant had them lined up in front of the dummies in a row. Every time the sergeant yelled a command the men made a step forward and thrust into a dummy with the practice spears. The men in the row seemed able enough. Most of the men in Reisenadler have been conducting weekly training since they were thirteen summers of age, creating a formidable levy for the King. The rest of the guardsmen were sparing with each other or taking lessons from Jorgen. Fuhren stepped up into the group of sparing men and grabbed a practice shield in his left arm and a wooden ax in his right. Seeing that Jorgen was indisposed at the moment he pointed towards Bode, one of the guardsmen, a formidable warrior in his own right. “Do you wish to spar Bode?” Asked Fuhren. The question was more of a formality. Bode answered by grabbing a practice ax and shield himself and stepped up to Fuhren. He was a little shorter than the young warrior, older too. However, Bode possessed a wide chest and shoulders, and a berserker speed and strength gained from years of experience in the training yard and on the battlefield. His beard was a brown bushy ordeal with braids going down the sides. His blue eyes were ice-cold as they honed in on every detail and step of the young warrior.

Fuhren made the first move, stepping forward and slashing out with the ax from the top. Bode blocked the move easily with his shield then pushed forward himself attempting to ram Fuhren off his balance. The young warrior barely shifted his weight and sidestepped in time to avoid the main force of the push from Bode. He then quickly sidestepped again as Bode turned to face him, and slashed out with his ax. Bode was nearly knocked in the head with the wooden ax as he brought his own up to block it. The two went on like this for some time as others stopped their training to watch. It was nearly two minutes in the scrap now and the warriors were both breathing hard with sweat forming on their brow. Fuhren finally let off the warrior some, knowing that he was not going to win by pressing the attack against such a strong foe. He back-stepped with his shield in the guard position waiting only a second for Bode to react. The berserker warrior came forward aggressively swinging his ax and bashing with his shield. As he did so Fuhren found his footing while leaning slightly lower. He then took his ax and swept at the warrior’s feet catching him completely off balance. Bode fell flat on his back.

“I can always count on you for a good fight Bode.” Remarked Fuhren in between gasps of air. “A good fight indeed.” Interrupted a strong elder voice. Fuhren turned his head towards the longhouse to see King Regem Ustus standing at the threshold of the rear doorway with his arms crossed and in a straight posture. His beard was gray almost entirely and his hair peppered. He wore a golden crown which was said to come from a faraway land that the Reisenadler’s once raided back in the times when their tribe had taken part in such activities. He wore a burgundy tunic, rather modest for a king, with a little embroidery. The king stepped out into the sparing yard, one of his manservants following him. “Alright Jorgen, I’ve been looking forward to a bit of exercise.” The King said as he handed his crown to the manservant who it was now apparent his sole purpose was to come out and hold the King’s crown.

Jorgen walked over and grabbed two wooden long swords, the only two they had since the King was the only man in possession of such a weapon. Jorgen tossed his extra-long sword towards the King who snatched it out of the air and assumed a middle guard position. Jorgen and the King were matched for height. Jorgen’s long red hair fluttering in the wind was beginning to show signs of white flecks as well. His large arms flexed powerfully as he took some warm-up swings with the sword. The champion assumed the mid guard position and the two proceeded.

The two warriors expertly parried and blocked each other’s blows as the wooden swords clacked together with an earsplitting crack. Jorgen flourished with a furious maneuver, catching the King at his side. The two stepped back without a word and re-set their positions and were at it again. Flourishing and swinging the swords so fast it was hard to follow with the eye. Smack! The King had caught Jorgen on his right thigh. Again, the two reset and continued their spar.

All eyes were fixed on the two expert swordsmen eagerly watching for who would win the bout. It would go to best out of seven and Jorgen was up now three to two. As the Champion went in for a killing strike the king swiftly avoided the assault altogether while bringing his sword up, first coming down on Jorgen’s outstretched arms then maneuvering the sword within a fraction of an inch of Jorgen‘s neck. Now it was tied. If the company had not been so regal it was likely that bets would be taken in such a situation. Fuhren along with the rest of the crowd watched on in astonishment and respect of the two warriors’ deadly skill.

“I see I’ve still not misjudged my decision to name you my champion at arms Jorgen.” The King remarked as the two paced the circle to catch their breath. “I certainly hope you are not pulling back on my account.” The King jested. “I assure you my lord I wouldn’t dare. I’d fear you’d take advantage and use the victory as a means to boast!” Replied Jorgen punctuating with a hearty laugh. Jorgen was one of the only men who could talk to the King in such a manner. It was an intimacy he fought for and earned on the battlefield many times over many years at the King’s side. “Alright enough jesting. Let’s get this over with.” The King said in a serious tone.

The two stood eyeing each other in their guard positions, then suddenly, they both moved in. Swords were crashing and clacking more furiously than before. Each man pivoted and stepped with footwork more graceful and precise than a dancer. Nobody could honestly say who was the better swordsman, in this case, both seemed equal on their ferocity and skill. Then almost as quickly as they started Jorgen dodged one of the King’s swipes and countered on the upswing, smacking the wooden sword from the King’s hands.

Although Jorgen had defeated the King, the lord did not seem displeased. “Perhaps I should give my blade to you Jorgen.” The king said panting for breath.

“It’s hard to say sire, it’s one thing to spar with wooden swords. It’s another to wield the blade. I’d not be surprised if you bested me in a match with the two of us wielding real great swords.” Jorgen replied while dabbing his face with a cloth.

“Aye. I suppose I do have you on experience in that regard.” Agreed The King.

King Regem stayed and practiced with the other men for some time before he took his crown back from his manservant and retired into the longhouse. It was now late morning, and time to get on with the regular duties of the day. The next watch shift left for the walls and gates while Fuhren and Jorgen put equipment away in the armory. “Too bad I didn’t get to spar you as well Jorgen. Just didn’t seem fair after you blew all your energy besting The King.” Joked Fuhren. “A true bastard’s tongue you’ve seemed to have acquired Fuhren. I should have laid your ass on the dirt more often when you were a lad.” Replied Fuhren. “Oh don’t worry about that. Bode did plenty of times. You’d think someone would take it at least a little easy on a child. Not Bode. Was nice to do the ass laying this time.” Said Fuhren as he inspected the weapons in the armory. Jorgen and Fuhren talked for some time as the armory was cleaned and managed. Although he had no real sons Jorgen found himself cherishing the times he spent with the young warrior as if he filled that void. The old warrior watched as Fuhren worked, his heart filled with pride and appreciation only a father could feel for his prized son. 

Fuhren quickly cleaned the armory and finished his tasks after Jorgen left since he wanted to get down to his friend Adlesprech, the newly appointed seer. He had many questions to ask of him, and wanted to see how he was holding up after the passing of his father. Fuhren was also aware of a growl in his stomach as he had not eaten since the night before.

After scarfing down some leftover lamb soup and bread he had from the night before, Fuhren put his hatchet through his belt strap, and looped his meager coin purse around his neck, just in case he ran into a fight or a reason to part with some coin. Then he was off just as the sun began to reach noon over Reisenadler.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The people of the town were up and in the full swing of things. The market just below the hill where the King’s longhouse sat was bustling with the sounds of peddlers hocking their wares and goods, mixed with the playful chatter of children and the haggling banter of customers. The aroma of smoked fish and lamb filled the air. Another smell caught the attention of the young warrior as well. The mouth-watering scent came from a vendor who was frying up flatbread then pouring a sort of thick lamb sauce in the middle and serving it as a quick meal. Although the young man had just eaten, in the later stages of his youth he often still found his stomach yearning for more. Fuhren went to the vendor and paid four copper pieces for two of them, and hurried out to the gate in a vain attempt to keep them warm for him and Adlesprech to enjoy.

Fuhren arrived at Adlesprech’s hut sitting just on the edge of the forest surrounding Reisenadler. With the two lamb sauce treats in his hands he kicked at the door to knock. Soon Adlesprech came and let the young warrior in.

The hut was round and crowded with herbs, trinkets, and talismans hanging from the walls. There was an area in the rear that resembled a sort of shrine filled with various metal figurines, bones, herbs, and other knick-knacks where Fuhren guessed rituals occurred to perform all manners of magic necessary to perform the trade of a seer. The middle of the hut contained a fire pit with four stools sitting around it. At opposite sides of the hut against the walls lay two bedding mats.

“Now I see why the King keeps you in that shed.” Said Adlesprech as Fuhren maneuvered towards a stool. “You’d eat his pantry and our people would be defeated not by green skin or monsters, but by famine.” Laughed the young seer. Fuhren raised the lamb treat in his left hand pointing it towards Adlesprech. “Don’t be an ass, one’s for you of course.” Said Fuhren as he handed the treat to Adlesprech. Adlesprech sat down on the stool across from Fuhren while eyeing the treat and salivating at the aroma. Adlesprech then without speaking bit into the lamb treat. It was one of the best things he had tasted in a long while.

Fuhren watched as his friend devoured the food. Seemingly he had been starving. “By Aquilias when is the last you ate?” Asked Fuhren. “Since my father passed.” Answered Adlesprech between bites. “I’ve been very busy ever since. The fasting helps with the meditations.”

Adlesprech slowed his eating for a second and looked at Fuhren in the eyes. His visage told Fuhren that the seer had something important to reveal. The young warrior sensed a familiarity in the expression as it was the same his friend’s father had made many times.

“I have learned many things about what is to come and I need to discuss them with you Fuhren.” At this Adlesprech stopped momentarily and looked at his friend seriously, then finished his food. “That’s funny.” Remarked Fuhren. “I came here to tell you something.” Adlesprech finished his meal and clapped his hands to remove the crumbs. “Did you see Oscill within Vir?” Guessed Adlesprech correctly. Fuhren realized he should have guessed that his friend already knew. For all Fuhren knew his friend was outside meditating on the stars themselves as he often did.

“Aye” replied Fuhren. “Is it an omen?” He asked.

“Indeed.” Said Adlesprech. “A powerful omen. It signifies much to come for the race of men. Not necessarily a good or a bad one mind you, as such things are irrelevant to the powers of the stars. No, it means vast ripples will be made. Kings will fall and rise. Men will become warriors, and warriors heroes.”

Fuhren considered his friend’s words. These were already troubling times. How could they get worse? Green skin raiders threatened their crops and herds from the western mountains. Monsters lived in burrows and caves anywhere they could hide and came out at night looking for easy prey. The men to the south threatened their borders with stronger numbers. Even worse, all-out war with the eastern coastal tribe of Leumites was in the wind and whispered about in the King’s halls. Their king claimed ownership of the entire river while King Regem claimed the same. Fuhren voiced his concerns to his friend asking how these things might play out.

“I am unsure in the exact way these events will end. Some could be beneficial to us, some may not. Know this Fuhren. Before my father passed he knew his day was coming, so we prepared. We meditated and conducted holy rituals that would strengthen and cleanse his soul. In so doing, he became like a bright spiritual beacon. I believe in his last hours, after finishing the final prayers, he almost chose to die right then by will alone, such was his power. Because of the preparations he now calls to me and sends me these visions which are stronger than any foresight or knowledge I have received from spirits in the past. They are also...” Adlesprech leaned in closer to Fuhren to drive home his point. “...handed down to my father by Aquilius himself.”

Fuhren regarded his friend’s wisdom. Not only did Fuhren believe his friend’s word no matter what, but there was also something in the air that confirmed his claims of his newfound powers. It was barely perceivable by Fuhren, but undeniable. An electrical current similar to the air in a thunderstorm radiated through the hut and from Adlesprech himself.

“There is one more thing Fuhren” noted Adlesprech. “I have seen you as the genesis of the ripples of our future. The nature of your fate I do not know. However, I do know you will be the cause of great change.”

Fuhren was surprised. He was certain that Adlesprech talked of events concerning the various Kings and tribal chiefs of Reisenadler and the lands surrounding her, not of himself. Sure He had grown to a formidable warrior, but what was a warrior compared to kings?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Fuhren awoke to a hard rasp at his door. Faint bluish rays of light entered the shed’s slots, reflections cast from Hyacin the blue moon. It was still night, and by the way Fuhren was slowly waking from his sleep he could tell it was an ungodly hour. Another rasp came at the door. It grew in intensity. “Yeah?” Fuhren managed in his state.

“Come Fuhren, something has happened! The King is holding a council of his warriors.” Said a familiar voice. It was Morris. A younger man who had yet to see battle. He must have been sent as a messenger to rouse the rest of the King’s warriors.

Realizing the urgency of the situation, Fuhren grabbed his tunic and threw it on. As he stepped towards the door he grabbed his hatchet and knife as well. Then Fuhren thrust open the door to see Morris still there. The boy was smaller than Fuhren yet looked strong for his age. He always carried his weapon of choice with him in his belt, an eight-inch iron dagger.

“Go now,” Said Fuhren. “Wake the rest and come to the council yourself. It would do you well to see how the dealings of men go about.” With that Fuhren was off to the Longhouse to see what had stirred the King at this time of night.

The King’s longhouse was now beginning to fill as more warriors and village elders began to trickle in to see what the news was about. Men spoke in hushed tones as they greeted each other and speculated about what was happening. Greenskin hordes? Monsters from the forests? Invading forces of men? Fuhren heard it all. No theory was spared. And every foe the Reisenadler’s had was suspected by the groveling crowd.

The king himself sat upon a wooden throne towards the back of the longhouse. His only son Valdis sat on his right hand. He was a young boy, fourteen summers of age now, the youngest of the King’s children. The king had sired three daughters before he finally gained a son. Two of the older daughters were married to the nobles of the nearby villages of Schafsfeld and Fluss, gaining their fealty. His other daughter, Princess Sigi, was not present. Fuhren was surprised to see his friend Adlesprech close to the King as well. He did not expect the young seer to take on the duties of his father so soon. Yet from the talk he had with his friend a couple of nights ago, Fuhren got the impression that it was all planned out. His friend even gave the impression that he felt a bit of joy and excitement from it all. The joy one gets from a plan coming to fruition.

Suddenly, king Regem raised his hand in the sign of a fist, signaling all to be silent. Every man in the Longhouse now looked upon the king in silence.

“I have brought you here for the purpose of raising a hunting party,” the King declared getting straight to the point. “A monster the likes of which we have not seen for years has made its way into the village of Fluss. According to the messenger, it is responsible for the deaths of many sheep, and now it stalks the borders of Fluss killing sleeping families in their homes!” Whispers arose from the warriors and elders in the longhouse. The King raised his fist once more calling for silence in the hall. As before, the men stopped their whispers and turned their gaze back to the King.

“I have already dispatched Jorgen ahead to assist Fluss in its defenses. However, I need him back here in the company of the council.” The King continued. “Therefore I require a separate hunting party to track and kill the beast that haunts Fluss. Who can I count on for this task?” The king bellowed his question, his voice reached the ends of the hall with ease.

Bode was the first to raise his ax in his right hand while yelling “Aye!”, signaling his will to join the party. The second was Eric, a formidable hunter, and tracker of the lands surrounding Reisenadler.

Fuhren glanced at Adlesprech to find his friend was already looking his way. Adlesprech’s expression turned to a serious smirk as he nodded his head. It was the only encouragement Fuhren needed. He raised his hatchet in his right hand and volunteered to be part of the hunting group as he yelled "Aye!" As he did the King nodded in agreement, pleased that such admirable warriors were rising to the task. Fuhren knew this would be a perfect opportunity to prove himself a true warrior or die in the service of the kingdom. He had only a couple of fights under his belt. Dispatching small bands of greenskins or the odd monster straggler was hardly cause to call yourself proven among the others.

Only moments after Fuhren called out, a younger voice echoed through the hall. “Aye!” Fuhren along with everyone else turned to see who had some so. Morris raised his dagger in his right hand with a proud smile on his face. It seemed a slightly foolish thing for the young lad to do. Fuhren alas was unable to stop a smirk from working its way onto his face. The young man was of age after all. Besides, how was a man to lose his greenhorns if he shied away from battle? The king nodded with grim acknowledgment, signaling that he allowed the action but seemed wary of the decision.

The rest of the villagers filed out of the longhouse and back to their homes. All that remained now were the volunteers and the closest of the king's council. King Regem looked over his voluntary party with appreciation. Even Morris held promise. Only in Reisenadler could such fighters be so numerous.

“The plan is for you to travel for Fluss as soon as possible,” Began the king. “You will begin tonight. I have arranged a baggage pony with supplies. Meet Jorgen there. He should be in a position to give you any leads on the monster. Eric, Morris, and Bode gather your things. Fuhren, I’ll speak with you for a moment.”

The others left hurriedly. The excitement was visible on Morris’s face. The other two handled their emotions more professionally, but still stepped with a hurried pace. King Regem waited for them to leave and turned back to Fuhren.

“Fuhren, I will speak with Bode before you leave about this, but I want you to take charge of this hunt. Bode is the more experienced warrior, yet I feel he is lacking in this respect. I imagine he is humble enough to understand the decision and will agree.” The king then placed a hand on Fuhren’s shoulder. “Also watch over the young one. He is untested, and his mind not yet honed like a warrior’s.” With that the king left, retiring back into his living quarters at the rear of the longhouse.

Adlesprech remained for a moment looking at Fuhren with a smile. “With this action, you align your fate with the stars Fuhren. Your quest will be difficult, but the outcome will start you on a path to changing humanity’s plight here," said the young seer. He then closed his eyes and began to breathe at a slower pace as if recalling something. “I have knowledge that may aid you. The monster’s lair will hold a secret. It will aid you in your journeys. Even when the hunt becomes a lost cause, do not lose hope. I have seen that you will triumph.”

Fuhren and Adlesprech clasped hands in a farewell gesture. “I swear to you brother and to all of Reisenadler. I will not lose hope on this hunt. I will slay this menace of our people and return victorious,” Swore Fuhren. He then departed to his abode to gather his things for the journey.

...

The sun began to peek over the trees of Snee forest as the travelers marched on along the path. Morning songbirds chirped and flew about to seek the morning worm as the mist retreated further into the darker shadows of the trees. A breeze gently caressed the treetops causing a ceaseless pleasant rustle. The steady clops of the baggage pony added to the effect of the meditative wilderness ambiance. Four men traveled in a line on the dirt path leading to Fluss. Their gate was wide and meaningful. They intended to waste as little time as possible.

“We’re making good time,” said Eric. He had spent much time in the forests surrounding the Reisenadler lands. He had been hunting since he was a little boy, taught by his father. Fuhren knew little of the man except for his professional endeavors. He was told few other men in the lands could track as well as Eric. He also knew that the woodsman preferred life in the forests, and was known to spend large swaths of time alone. He would only return when necessary, to sell his hides and meat, and then to purchase necessities. It had only been by chance that the man was even at the council. Word likely never would have reached the hunter if he were in his usual abode, amongst the trees and creatures of the woods.

An hour or so after the sun had risen Eric halted the group. He turned to Fuhren “I advise we camp here. Off the trail some. I know a spot with flat dry earth. We rest a bit during the day and walk the road at night. That way we do not have to worry about setting a night watch every time we sleep. The days in these parts of the woods are not as perilous as the night.”

Fuhren agreed. The well-traveled dirt road would be easy to walk along whether it was day or night. They’d be safer moving in the dark than they would be camping in one spot. Three men asleep while one foolishly attempts to keep a watchful eye on the darkness would make for easy prey. No, it would be asking for trouble.

Fuhren nodded, signaling his approval. Eric led the three men and the pony through the trees and around the thickets expertly. He had likely been to the area so many times he knew it as one knows their own home. Eric led them to a small even land underneath the shade of a massive tree. Its branches outstretched over a vast space, snuffing out the life of other plants save for the heartiest weeds. Eric tied the pony to a low-hanging tree and affixed a feed bag to the helpful beast. The others untied their sleeping rolls from around their shoulders and unfurled the mass of blankets under the shade of the mighty tree. Eric reached into one of the pony’s panniers to grab some provisions. He then walked over to Fuhren and the others.

“We eat then sleep for a while. I’ll wake us in the afternoon.” He said while handing out bread and smoked lamb to the men.

“Aye.” Said Fuhren as he placed some pieces of lamb atop a slice of bread. “What sort of headway do you reckon we make? You are knowledgeable of these things beyond any of us.” Said Fuhren before taking a bite of his meal.

“We make good time. If we push hard tomorrow and skip resting in the morning like today then we should be able to arrive at Fluss in the early evening.” Said the hunter.

Morris gave an audible but faint gasp as he realized the discomfort in such a journey. The others ignored it.

“Then I suggest we rest well this morning,” Said Fuhren as he finished his meal.

...

Jorgen rode into the village of Fluss on one of the few horses kept by the king. The Reisenadler’s knowledge of and ability to raise such animals was lacking. The people of Reisenadler had only just been introduced to the beasts some time ago by a wandering tribe far to the west beyond the mountains. Although mules and ponies had always inhabited the lands, riding was an activity reserved for kings and only the most proven of warriors. Close behind Jorgen rode Leopold, Jorgen’s right-hand man, and the next probable Champion at Arms. They were an unusual sight for the backwoods river village of Fluss. Not only were they warriors of the king’s retinue, but they were riders too.

The village chief came out to greet the king’s men, a thankful look on his face. “Thank Aquilius, please say you are here for the beast that haunts us,” The chief said in a hopeful manner.

“Yes,” Replied Jorgen. “We are the advance party. The king told me before I rode out that he would gather a meeting to gain volunteers to hunt the creature that slays the good men and women of Reisenadler. Now take us to where the attacks have happened. We need to come up with a plan.”

The sun was now setting over the small village of Fluss. The people who still braved the outside were hurrying back to their huts and hovels to bar their doors. Strong men stayed out with torches keeping a watch over the borders of the village. Sheep were herded back into pens as shepherds with dogs looked over their livelihood.

In his older age, Jorgen found that certain things were becoming more perceivable as his mind quieted. One of these was the tension of fear. He did not feel it himself at this moment, but in the air all around the village. It was a moist choking sensation that slogged through the air like a thick soup. It caused men to be snappy and paranoid. Mothers would be seen sweeping up the children on even the slightest gesture of them moving out of sight. He could see the air of fear choking down every villager’s life as he made his way through the village to a little cottage on the eastern side.

The farming family lived close to the village. A small dirt path led up a slight grassy hill towards the fieldstone house. The roof of the hovel showed in stark contrast to the rest of its surroundings. The sun beamed a vibrant golden glow off the straw thatching. Jorgen’s mind drifted for a second as a smell most familiar to him escaped the confines of the cottage and invaded his nostrils. Rotting death as clear as the summer sky and as thick as copper poured out around the cottage.

“We have not had time yet to clean up.” Explained the elder. “This is the third site of an attack so far. The first two locations it attacked only killed a dog and then some sheep. This one, however...” the chief trailed off, his mind recalling unspeakable horrors.

“Maybe it is growing braver,” said Leopold.

“The door is still intact,” observed Jorgen. “Where did the beast enter?”

The elder grimly lowered his gaze. “It is...” he stammered “It is around the other side at the back. I must warn you, it’s an incomprehensible thing.

As the three rounded the back of the cottage they beheld what the elder meant. Jorgen became as still as a stone statue, staring at what he saw. Leopold dropped his jaw at the sight of the entrance the monster had made, his eyes bulged out in amazement. A gaping hole in the straw roof of the cottage, the size of two sheep at least. Then further damage to the fieldstone wall under it suggested that the creature had climbed inside to get at the occupants. Dried blackened blood and visceral lay about the circumference of the hole. Jorgen turned the corner to look into the hole in the wall and ceiling. The sight was repugnant even for a hardened warrior. The farming family of five had been ripped apart by the creature in only a matter of seconds. A futile attempt to clean out the remains was visible but to what avail? Blood still stained every corner of the cottage, and lumps of flesh ripped from bone still lay on the ground and furnishings.

“From what we can tell,” began the elder from across the threshold of the hole in the wall. “The monster consumes its victims. There wasn’t nearly...” he paused. “There wasn’t nearly enough left for them to have been simply ripped apart.” The village chief turned towards the fading sun, orange and red glimmered on his face. He lowered into prayer position on his knees and began to say a prayer to Aquilius God of Man.

As the man prayed Jorgen investigated the room further. He noticed the door was still locked. Bloody streaked handprints groped and slipped over the lock and door. The family had been trapped by the lock with which they meant to keep the monster out.

After visiting the other sites of the monster’s attacks, Jorgen concluded there was a pattern. The monster started at a shepherd’s hovel far from the rest of the village and to the south across the river. The encounter was likely a thing brought on by chance. The shepherd had said that he awoke to two of his dogs barking at something while protecting the flock. Then he heard a horrifying yelp as he went to see for himself. He was only able to catch a glimpse of a terrible lumbering shadow as the creature fled the scene. The sheep dog's corpse still dangling from the monster's maw. The second encounter took place to the southeast across the river this time. The beast had lost its fear of the dog’s barks and killed two more sheepdogs who were guarding a flock of thirty on the eastern borders of the village. The dogs and several sheep were mutilated and devoured by the beast until it had its fill and left the scene. Then of course there was the farmer’s family to the east. It lay only on the border of Fluss, a loosed arrow could hit it. The creature seemed to be getting closer to Fluss each night. 

Leopold sat down in the house that Jorgen and he had occupied for the night. His long dark braided hair shimmered in the candlelight. The burly warrior looked out on the eastern flank of the village his eyes red with weariness. The window he peered through let a cool night breeze inside and Leopold welcomed its comforting embrace. The family that lived there were more than welcoming of their guests. They believed themselves now invincible with the king’s men in their abode. 

"Anything yet?" Asked Jorgen as he handed his companion bread and water.

"No," replied the warrior. "If there was I wouldn't sitting here like a fool munching on bread."

"I suppose not," laughed Jorgen. "You can take the first sleep. I'll take watch for now," Jorgen said as he blew out the candle sitting on the table behind him.

Before he went to find a spot to sleep Leopold asked "How big do you think this monster is? Judging by the damage of that house I'd say it's going to be a good fight."

Jorgen thought for a second then replied "I'd say it's big, and it's vicious. It should prove a formidable foe."

Leopold lingered on the open window for a second then replied "good".

Jorgen suspected the creature was now bold enough to journey into the village of Fluss for its next meal. Although he had dispatched of their kind on more occasions than he’d prefer to recall, Jorgen still knew little of the nature of these beasts. They seemed to resemble a man in looks alone and even that was a stretch sometimes. The hunters and woodsmen of Reisenadler shared many a tale and theory of the origins and nature of the beasts. Some say they had been men at one time or another. Turned to monster by horrendous magic that spilled over the mountains from far away lands like a putrid puss. Others told tales of the creatures of the woods becoming the monsters as well. Wolves would sometimes be seen without fur and more fearsome than usual. Others also spoke as though some of the monsters contained intelligence to a degree. They told stories of witnessing dark rituals to even darker gods in the deep refines of the forests and foothills of the mountains. Jorgen shuddered at the idea that these freaks could be organizing somewhere. The Greenskins descending from the mountains was already enough. Now the threat of the monsters grew more and more present it seemed.

How many people of Reisenadler had been affected by the morbid destruction of these things? Jorgen’s thoughts drifted to that of Fuhren. The closest thing he had to a son. Jorgen recalled finding him, small and wide-eyed hiding in the root cellar. Through the cracks of the cellar, he had seen his family torn to pieces by a similar beast. Jorgen, although a hardened veteran, felt it difficult to think of such a horrible thing. He felt sadness for the young man, but he also felt a hatred boiling inside. A hatred he had never felt for these creatures until now. He swore to himself in the cottage home of Fluss that this creature would be stopped tonight. No more innocent folk or Reisenadler would befall the foul creature’s vile hunger.

As night thickened across Fluss a stillness swept over the land. Leopold was fast asleep in the dark cottage home. The only light seeping in was the bluish glow of the moon through the open window Jorgen was using to peer out in watch of the Eastern part of Fluss. The silence was subtle but noticeable by the veteran Jorgen. Crickets had ceased their orchestra. Dogs stopped howling, and the wind itself faltered. As Jorgen peered out in anticipation of what he knew from experience was likely to be the creature, his breathing suddenly halted for a moment.

There out of the tree line emerged the outline of a monster. Taller than any man by at least a half, the creature lumbered and brushed against high branches as it stomped out of the woods. Its pink and red body glistened in the moonbeams. Two tentacles dangled and squirmed from its right shoulder. The other arm was no arm at all, but a horrific apparatus. A long needle-like appendage made of bone and hard chiton started at the elbow and went down into a point. It was as though the monster grew a spear from its own arm. Its head was that of a man’s except for its mouth. It was a large extended jaw that lay open wide. Teeth like razors jutted out from inside. The creature stopped when out in the open. Then fixed its gaze to a nearby cottage, ready to claim its meal.

**Author's Note:**

> Fuhren is a working title and a work in progress. Thanks for reading :) Also sorry about the paragraphs I'm new to this.


End file.
